


Honey Honey

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Random AUs [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Sugardaddy Steve, shrunky clunks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: The kid is maybe, oh, twenty years younger than him? Clean-shaven, and looking out of the corner of his eye at Steve in the same way Steve feels he must be looking at the kid – i.e., like he wants to do any number of unmentionable things to him.Because boy does Steve ever want to do unspeakable things to this kid.AKA, the Accidental Sugardaddy!Steve AU I always wanted.





	Honey Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cap for some advice on how to assert dominance in an awkward conversation.

The kid is maybe, oh, twenty years younger than him? Half his age – Steve remembers being twenty (or thereabouts) and he might only be forty-one now but, if the difference between him and Sam, who is three years older than Steve, is enough to be noticeable on occasion despite the depth of their friendship, then the difference between Steve and this kid will be impossible to ignore.

Except that, here Steve is in his navy uniform, and here the kid is in pinstripe – just the pants and waistcoat – with a chequered blue shirt that's rolled up at the sleeves, and a long black tie cut across the middle with silver tie-pin, cinched at the top with a collar bar. He doesn't wear socks, and his brogues are brown, and his hair is tied back in a little bun at the nape of his neck, from which wisps of dark brown hair curl around his face, but he's still got enough hair for a swoop over his forehead, like Steve used to have way back when.

When he shifts his stance a little, Steve sees the glint of metal and flash of navy in the small of the guy's back, where his braces attach – looking for it before he realizes it's because he recognises it, before he realizes he's looking at the kid the way he used to look at some of the kids back home. Back then. 

The kid is clean-shaven and looking out of the corner of his eye at Steve in the same way Steve feels he must be looking at the kid – i.e., like he wants to do any number of unmentionable things to him. 

Because boy does Steve ever want to do unspeakable things to this kid - he's absolutely gorgeous.

Strong jawline padded by youth, beautiful shape to his mouth suggesting a constantly just-hidden smile, eyes that sparkle like there's a joke he's not sharing, Steve likes this immediately – a modern twist on Steve's type of classic – and the fact that the kid's got broad shoulders and strong hands shouldn't draw as much of Steve's attention as it does.

The kid, however, is standing behind someone at one of the many computer screens, leaning on the back of the rolling chair currently occupied by a young lady in business attire, and it's only the fact that somebody clears their throat near to Steve that reminds him why he's here in the first place.

“Sorry,” Steve says, tearing his gaze away, looking back at Stark as Stark tries to convince him that his Starkphone is actually a useful piece of everyday equipment.

“That's called a Hipster,” Stark tells him, pointing with a screwdriver at the current object of most of Steve's attention. “I can ask it to move if it's causing you a problem-”

“I was just wondering where he kept his pork-pie hat and Doc Martens, actually,” Steve answers – sometimes the Steve-Rogers-Is-Old thing is funny, and sometime it isn't, “and I didn't know the tower had a vaping space. At least his facial hair isn't too extravagant.”

Stark looks at him for a moment, unsure if that was meant to be a veiled insult – Steve's not sure if that's how he meant it himself, but probably – and he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. The kid's smiling, has leaned down to his co-worker a little, but glances under his lashes at Steve and shows his amusement.

“Regardless of the people in my employ,” Tony says, deciding that Steve's too nice to have insulted him, “your tablet's 8G capability -”

“The only issue I was having was with the biometric recognition,” Steve says, considering privately that he's done insanely well not to leave without the thing entirely. “There's no issue on the 8G. Or any other wireless networks.”

“Yeah, but now it's updated,” Tony tells him. “It can provide you with realtime bluetooth-”

“Tony,” Steve says, holding up a hand. “I can make video calls, access messaging and emails, and use the internet?”

“Yes?” Tony answers, as though Steve has grown a second head.

“And is it fixed?”

“What?” Tony says. “Of course it is. And you can-”

“Speak to Jarvis,” Steve says, “and get alerts and automatic assemble messages. Yes?”

Tony narrows his eyes.

“Yes,” he says. “And you don't want the rest of the features because you're a heathen.” Tony sighs and turns away. “Fine,” he says. “Be ungrateful – I was in the middle of something anyway.”

Steve bites back a smirk.

“Thank you, Tony,” he says anyway.

The young hipster at the next desk looks like he might laugh, too, but he gets back to work a moment later, and Steve gives him one last once-over before he leaves.

~

When he's stroking off at 4am after going to bed, it's the kid he pictures. It's nice to have another fantasy to entertain, another picture behind his eyelids. He's carried the same ones for years, the same blurry faceless figures, the same ideas, the same blue movies he's always liked. 

This time, although he feels a little weird about it afterwards, he pictures the kid on his knees in that nice suit, staring up at him with those sparkling eyes. 

~

Steve doesn't see the guy for a few days, mainly because he's never on the R&D floors even when he's staying at the tower. In fact, it's only because he stops at one of the tower's coffee shops on his way back from a run that he sees the guy again at all, really – Steve is _never_ on the R &D floors.

The place serves coffee like a bar, not like a coffee place, so they're standing next to each other against the chest-high-ish countertop and Steve is waiting for his flat white Colombian coffee with three espressos, when the young man in Steve's periphery turns his head on Steve's direction. Steve glances at the guy, and then recognizes him before he has a chance to double-take. 

He knows what hipsters are but this outfit is completely different to the one the guy was wearing the other day.

This time it's black skinny jeans, a very loose, white round-neck and a short, black leather jacket, with untied afore-assumed Doc Martens on his feet, and a long, thick scarf wrapped several times around his neck. He's also wearing his hair in a bun, wisps starting to unravel, a pencil stuck through the middle either for practicality or to keep his hair in place.

“Hey,” he smiles, clearly amused, when Steve manages to get a smile on his face. 

This is a little different than the types of things Steve used to see young men wear, but the fashions have changed, and Steve sort of keeps himself aware of it. That doesn't mean what the kid is wearing is not attractive – far from it. Just that Steve is more used to the suit and braces of the other day than the seemingly mismatched (but obviously very carefully chosen) items the kid's wearing now.

“Hi,” Steve answers, a couple of different options occurring to him at once. “You on lunch?”

The guy smiles broadly, all teeth, touching his tongue to the tip of his canine as he gives Steve a nice, slow once-over. When he gets all the way back to Steve's face again, he laughs softly, lifts both eyebrows as he scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, and then turns back to the menu.

All the different options narrow down to one. Steve is not an idiot. He knows when somebody is flirting with him, he just doesn't usually have time to indulge in reciprocation.

“I finished early today,” kid says, and then he settles his chin on his shoulder. “How about you?”

“Gettin' coffee,” he says with a shrug. 

“What, here?” the kid says, with warmth, but also with amusement, and Steve shakes his head and thinks about coming up with an excuse.

He could say anything really – it was close, it was on his way – but, really, Steve likes it because it's done in muted colors and dark woods, has glass and mirrors, and looks just about like every bar he ever went to in England way back when.

Still, he doesn't need to get maudlin about it – and he knows his social classifications and their nuances well enough to answer with the sort of wryness that ought to endear.

“I like the aesthetic,” he answers, and this time the kid laughs, taken by surprise and, quite possibly, amused by the reference.

Steve watches him, smiling himself, at the way the kids blue eyes squeeze shut, the way his soft-looking red lips pull back over his white teeth.

“Oho, man,” he says as his laughing tapers down to a sigh. “Yeah, that figures. So you're Commander Rogers.”

Steve nods a little tiredly, wondering what kind of changes this makes to the reasonable first impression he seems to have made already. 

Yes, he first saw this young man a few days ago, while nattering with Tony Stark and wearing his actual uniform. And yes, he's currently wearing his navy compression gear – the one with the white divisions over the torso and the white panels under the arms – that looks an awful lot like the uniform anyway. 

But those panels and lines and whatnot, which are meant to be strategic to his physical recovery following exercise, are coincidentally just as strategic to his looking pretty damned good. And part of Steve was still hoping for a little more time before the Captain America questions that unfailingly follow the recognition of his current uniform.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he says and, when he looks back at the kid, the kid is staring at him with a gaze that's completely unwavering, his eyes showing that same inviting sparkle as the last time.

“I'd have you any way I can,” he says, voice low, and Steve likes this kid – he really does.

He shows none of the intimidation or awe that the uniform usually manages to inspire, and it does make a refreshing change. That, in addition to the fact that the kid hasn't yet asked him about the shield or his missions or that-one-alien-invasion or whatever, is appealing in itself, and Steve's interest was already piqued anyway.

He watches the kid's eyes follow the seams on his uniform with his eyes, from the lines across his shoulders to the carefully accented taper over his torso, before the kid's eyes catch his own again.

Thing is though, Steve grew up in a certain neighbourhood, had a certain look about him back then, and he's always been a useless flirt when it comes to women.

Men though?

“Any way you can?” he says, raising one eyebrow. “Is _that_ your way of asking my permission?” 

The kid's mouth drops open.

The barista comes past and Steve holds out a hand, slides a little money over the counter and waits, while the kid turns back to the counter and covers his mouth with his hand, clearly hiding a smile (and not so successfully hiding a blush).

“So given that I'd quite like to be repeating it loudly at some point in the near future,” Steve says, indicating the young man to the barista, and he's reminded of the way the boys used to get a drink for a lady in the pubs they'd frequent in London, “what actually _is_ your name?”

The kid laughs incredulously, slaps a palm down on the countertop and leans back.

“Oh my God, that...I can't believe you, that line is the _worst_ and you didn't even use it right, and...ha, it's still...”

He laughs, shakes his head and looks at Steve.

“It's still working on you,” Steve says, because he can see that it is.

The kid laughs, sets his elbow on the counter and his head on his subsequently raised hand.

“It's still working on me,” he admits, and Steve smiles at him. “I'm...I'm James.”

Steve allows himself a moment of nostalgia before he nods, looking the kid up and down for himself. As much fun as this is, Steve is expecting a few more minutes before the guy grows uncomfortable, or has some prior engagement to get to, and then this will be a distant memory, as much as Steve might be revisiting this particular memory for a while.

Maybe sometimes they'll cross paths, but Steve doesn't expect it for the most part. He's a forty year old supersoldier, for a start, and has a pretty time-consuming day job. He'll think of James – of course he will, eyes like those and a mouth like that are pretty hard to forget – but James has a life, and doubtless has a significant other too.

Steve would still dearly love to do despicable things to him, but is well aware of things like the massive age difference between them, the age of consent, and other things like that – not limited to how this slip of a young man, whose facial hair doesn't quite grow fast enough to leave him with five o'clock shadow, whose jaw has still to sharpen, and whose life experience is probably very limited in comparison to Steve's, actually has to find him attractive, instead of just finding him cute for trying.

“And how old is James?” Steve asks anyway, because why not? He'll say something cutesy like how James is too young for him, how James should try someone his own age.

Except, except, Steve Rogers actually likes the guy, wouldn't mind watching him drink a coffee and mess around with his clothes or his hair or be nervous around someone like Steve. And:

“Oh, James turned twenty-one this March,” he says, “so James can drink what he wants, and drive where he wants, and very much sleep with whomever he pleases. Although those activities are conducted separately.”

Steve looks at the kid out of the corner of his eye, assessing. This is a cocky young man, confident, clearly charming, _very_ attractive, and Steve would be a fool to turn him down, if indeed the offer is forthcoming.

“Well I'm forty-one one way, and over a hundred the other,” Steve tells him, which is an understatement, “so as long as you're all right with centenarians-”

Steve is older than that – he has gray at his temples and lines at the corners of his eyes, and has seen things and done things no human being should have to suffer through. But James laughs again as the barista sets down two covered cups with cardboard near to Steve, both to-go.

“Oh, I'm easy,” he says. “Long as you got a cute smile and a nice ass, I'm interested.”

“Is that all,” Steve chuckles, wondering if it's really that simple, wondering how long this cockiness would hold up – he likes it, but he'd also like to put a stop to it in some creative way.

It would be nice to think that all the kid wants is something so easy, too. Steve is one of many people owning a suite in the tower who is not able to provide much else. Certainly time to spare is something he's never had much of, even if his bank account is much better off these days.

“Well, I like my caffeine, too. Buy me a coffee and I'll follow you anywhere,” James says, and his voice says he thinks he's being cute and clever and forward, and also like this is a test.

Like maybe if Steve isn't willing to buy him something so negligible as a coffee, he certainly isn't willing to give him the time of day after...whatever buying a coffee implies.

But Steve smiles, ahead of James by far, and points at one of the paper cups sitting on the counter.

“I just did,” he says. “So that's my half of the bargain, right?”

James freezes in what Steve assumes is surprise, and then his gaze slides across from Steve's expectant expression to the paper cup of coffee and then back to Steve – to Steve's mouth specifically, and then back up to his eyes.

He scrapes his teeth over his lower lip again, less seductively this time and more...more kind of antsy. 

“That an invitation?” he says.

Steve picks up his coffee of the two on the counter, with a look that he hopes answers that question, and walks away.

He stops after three steps, turns his head a little way over his shoulder and says, 

“You comin'?”

And then the hurried rustle of fabric and the muted, “Holy shit,” he hears from behind him says that James is picking up his messenger bag and following through.

~

James Buchanan Barnes is not a lucky young man. He's one of those young men who doesn't get to the subway station in time, one of those young men who gets splashed by a cab on the way to work, one of those young men who makes eye contact only to find out the cute guy's got a girlfriend, the cute girl's got a boyfriend.

He's not this lucky at all so, usually, he's pretty good at making his own luck.

This time, he's lucked out - potentially at least.

A few days ago, James was busy helping Amy with an error in her programming when Stark and Rogers walked in. Rogers had been annoyed about some problem with his tablet, and Stark had fixed said problem because of course he had.

But Rogers had also scored a little bit of a victory against Stark's motormouth, and shared a conspiratorial smile with (somehow) the luckiest man in the entire office - all the air had left James in a rush, but he'd played it as cool as he could, hoping Rogers hadn't noticed, and then freaked the fuck out just a little afterward because holy shit, Steve fucking Rogers, Commander Rogers himself, had actually fucking given him the once-over.

And then he'd shown up at James' favourite in-tower coffee place and, Jesus, the guy might be old enough to be James' father (or great grandfather depending on how you looked at it) but James had had posters of Cap growing up, had kept those posters as after-lights-out material throughout his adolescence, and had watched the news reports as the guy he'd always wanted to be turned into the guy he just straight up wanted. 

The thing is, James' default is to flirt with everyone. Sometimes he gets what he wants, sometimes he doesn't, sometimes he doesn't want anything anyway, but flirting is easy, and fun. He knows he's a charmer – he's always been told as much – and failing to play it cool when it comes to _Commander Rogers_...

He doesn't usually meet that many celebrities – even in New York. He remembers his first, some shitty singer who'd ended up being a major disappointment, back when he was in his mid-teens – just as well the guy had ended up being a heap of shit, because James had managed to not speak, not make eye-contact, and shuffle awkwardly away while, so his not-so-starstruck friend informed him later, said singer was attempting to speak to him. 

(This was only his first celebrity encounter if you didn't count meeting Buzz Lightyear at Disneyworld when he was six, obviously.)

But meeting Commander Rogers, just like the few other celebrities James has stumbled across, is like accidentally stepping into movie, or like a movie accidentally spitting out a character. Standing next to Commander Rogers, James is struck by how much of an actual human being he is, not an action figure or a cleverly-assembled robot (although he could be – this is Stark Tower). He is very tall, and his shoulders are very broad, but there's sweat on his skin from his jog, and the cup he holds bends slightly under the pressure from his fingers. His compression shirt is slightly twisted, a little rucked up on one side, and he has fine blond hair on his forearms, little birthmarks on his cheek and throat. James could see every hair in the man's eyebrows when they spoke at the coffee bar, and he can see that the Commander is wearing jersey boxers under his compression pants.

Rogers is human, very much so – James can even feel the Commander's bodyheat – and it's overwhelming to know that this person, this man, this human being, is someone so iconic. It barely feels real.

But he's determined to actually manage a conversation with Commander Rogers, because he'll never be able to look his posters in the eye again if he fails.

Right now, he's standing behind Commander Rogers at the last elevator on the elevator bank, half-feeling like he ought to be calling the guy 'Sir,' without any specific idea how he got here. Except that like...

_Oh my God, do I actually have game?_

Or maybe Rogers is just really desperate to get laid. Maybe both – James would like to think it's a little of both. It says a lot for his game and his body if it's both.

The Commander presses his thumb to the pad by the door, holds still so the security protocols can scan his retina, and then, casually as you like, says,

“Sure about this?” and looks up at the lights above the elevator. 

The elevator is two floors away. One floor away.

“I said I'd follow you anywhere, didn't I?” James asks, being bold because it's worked so far, and the Commander steps forward into the elevator when the doors open, goes to the back, turns around, and leans back against the rail and watches James.

The doors don't close, and the Commander glances up at the ceiling.

 _“Welcome back, Commander Rogers,”_ says a voice that James only ever hears when he logs in, selects a playlist or command, or gets a drink, and Steve nods.

“And guest,” he says, and he says it with a voice like melted chocolate, his eyes on James again. “Good morning.”

 _“Authorised,”_ Jarvis responds, and the doors close. _“Express to your floor, Sir?”_

“That'd be great, Jarvis,” he says, and James' knees do not give out, good job knees, and he does his best to look casual instead, “thank you.” 

James is going to be absolutely ruined for anyone else after this, he's sure, nobody's going to come close.

The Commander – okay, Rogers, because if James keeps calling him 'The Commander' in his head then there's a chance he's going to say it out loud, and saying it out loud only has like a fifty percent chance of being what Rogers wants.

Rogers is a work of art – James knows exactly what he looked like before the serum because every kid in America knows what Steve Rogers looked like before the serum. It's actually kind of jarring to see him in person. His eyes are so much _more_ , his mouth looks so much _better_ and his shoulder to waist ratio is going to be enough to keep James going for months- for years, even if this whole thing turns out to be some horrible practical joke.

Still, Rogers has already bought him a coffee – before James even suggested it, which bodes well for potential future interaction.

“So,” he says, his voice a little rough, wondering if the serum allows Steve to see things like wide pupils, to hear things like faster breaths – Rogers is a turn on whether James has an endgame in mind or not. “You get to talk to the tower, huh?”

“I do,” Steve answers, taking a long draught of his coffee a moment later, watching James' eyes when he moves the cup away from his mouth – at least, that's what James presumes, because he was watching Rogers' throat work while he drank, and Rogers waits for James' gaze to find his own again before he continues. “You don't?”

“My contact's limited,” he says. “It's more like Siri.”

Rogers nods.

“So only through devices and, presumably, your workstation?”

James nods too, takes a drink of his own coffee.

“Yeah,” he says. “The usual kind of stuff.”

“Jarvis,” Rogers says, without taking his eyes off James. “Security blackout on the elevator and on my floor until further notice.”

 _“Understood, Sir,”_ Jarvis answers.

James swallows his next mouthful of coffee a little harder because Rogers is doing this on purpose, but James had no idea the clean-cut gentleman from his history books could sound the way he sounds right now.

Rogers pushes of the railing to move to stand in front of James, still not touching him.

“I'm gonna be honest,” he says, and he keeps his voice low and calm, “I don't do this kind of thing.”

James raises an eyebrow and then looks what he can of Rogers up and down – it's not an easy thing to do when Rogers is standing so close.

“Me either,” he says, because he doesn't for the most part – not without talking it through first. “Not like this happens every day.”

He's been with a couple of older guys, one or two older women, and he likes being the arm-candy, likes being kept in nice clothes and nice food, likes the kind of sex people never seem to consider slightly older partners capable of. 

Experience is a beautiful thing, especially when paired with youthful stamina.

“We can talk about that later,” Steve says, and James' mind takes a second to catch up, but the doors are opening behind him.

Rogers walks past him in a rush of warm, soap-and-clean-sweat-scented air, through a smallish lobby area to a plain, white door. 

James follows him without being asked because he's well aware that Rogers will tell him to back off if he wants James to back off. Even if James weren't following along of his own volition, Rogers could literally kill him before James even realized. There's no way either of them are under any illusions about just who's in charge.

~

Steve's trying to figure out his next move. 

He knows what he _wants_ it to be, but he's also never done this before. 

If he were to be romantic about it, he'd pretend that he's just met a nice young man to make passionate love to but, even if that didn't make Steve mentally roll his eyes, he knows that what he's actually done is just bought a coffee for a young man he doesn't know anything about besides his name, and done so in exchange for sex – or some approximation of it, at least. This isn't the kind of thing Steve does.

On the other hand, this is a kid who works at Stark Industries. This is a kid who's smart, insanely good-looking, and has already signed Non-Disclosure Agreements about anything he does in the tower (Steve knows this because he knows which section of the tower that the kid was working in – you're not permitted access unless you've signed those papers, because you're handling the testing and programming of next-gen tech, and potential Avengers tech with it).

Not to mention the fact that Steve's gone without anything for a very long time now, especially with his libido the way it is, and he's aching for something, anything, that isn't battery-powered and/or his own hands.

Plus, he's halfway to thinking maybe the kid thinks he's joking (if the kid does, Steve will just show him out and apologize for the misunderstanding), because this has been incredibly fast and incredibly easy. And he doubts someone with so much of their life ahead of them, and so much ability to have whomever he pleases, is thinking long-term here.

Steve sets his coffee cup down on the table. 

He toes off his sneakers as he hears James close the door behind them, and strips off his compression shirt a moment later.

“Oh my God,” James mutters, and Steve turns around to look at him, naked to the waist aside from his dogtags, “you're really serious.”

“I'm not the type of guy to do this,” he says. “But I'm also not the type of guy to do something my partner doesn't want.”

James swallows hard and takes a couple of steps forward, staring at Steve's chest with his mouth wide open, as though he can't quite believe what he's looking at. 

“So like,” James says, wetting those full, pink lips first, “if I wanna back out, now's the ti-”

“Hey, you wanna go, you go,” Steve says, maybe a little harsher than he intended, hand cutting through the air. “Wherever we're at, you understand me? Now's the time, five minutes is the time, ten, half an hour, half a day, whenever. Tell me to stop and I'll stop. Tell me not to, and I won't.”

James is still staring.

“James?” Steve says, and the name feels at once familiar and unfamiliar in his mouth.

“Yeah?” James says, gaze snapping up, and then his eyes go wide and he nods, pulling the strap of his bag over his head to throw the bag aside. “Ye- Yeah!”

“Good,” Steve says. “Do you kiss?” 

James looks at him like he's crazy for a second, as though Steve has just asked him whether he breathes.

“Uh, I...I _can_ kiss you, am I allowed...do you _want_ me to kiss you?” 

Steve looks at the kid, cocks his head a second and tells himself again: The kid has to be smart, he works for Tony Stark.

So Steve steps right up to the kid, plucks the paper cup out of his hand to put it down on the coffee table, tugs the damn scarf until it comes loose and he can drop it, and shoves the leather jacket back of James' shoulders, to find that James is wearing a billion leather bracelets which he'll deal with later. He also reaches up and pulls out the pencil from the little bun. 

James has chocolate brown hair in soft waves that frame his face and brush his collar, it turns out, and Steve plunges his fingers into it and and doesn't quite _yank_ James forward into a kiss, but it's close enough.

The sharp breath in James takes through his nose, and the way James' palms slap against Steve's forearms, tell Steve that maybe he could have done a little bit more to warn him, but James settles a moment later and fuck _yeah_.

Steve takes one hand out of James' hair and drops his arm to pass it around James' torso, bringing him closer still with a hand on his back, warm skin against warm cotton, and Steve can feel his whole body respond, from his head to his toes, goosebumps rising over his skin like a wave, heat flowing down his spine. He's got his hands all over James a moment later, pulls back to look at him, figure out where the hem of his ridiculously long shirt is and wrench it upward. 

James sticks both arms straight up with a breathless laugh, moving himself into Steve's personal space before the shirt's even clear of his arms, laughing as he moves forward for another kiss, moaning as Steve strokes his skin.

It's a lot more of a kiss this time, their mouths open, and James' tongue is warm and slick and Steve's on his way to being hard already – a desperate ache in flesh that's spent a long time not being pressed up against thick young thighs.

James groans into Steve's mouth, stands on his toes and pulls Steve toward him, and Steve goes, wraps his hands around James' waist because his hands are huge and James is not, and his fingers nearly meet around the back of him.

The kid is built but slender, his jawline still round with youth – he'll lose that in the next few years and be even more of a stunner then but this? This is something Steve didn't know he wanted, and he tries very hard not to think about why.

Not-thinking is made much easier in the next few seconds when James decides to run his hands over Steve's torso, and then down over the bulge in Steve's compression pants. 

“Take off your clothes,” Steve pulls back to tell him, grabbing at the wrist of James' more effective wandering hand before he nods down at it. “You do any more of that and round one's through before we even start.”

James just stares at him for a second or three, gaze flicking between Steve's eyes, and he steps back a little way.

Steve feels his eyebrows draw together and lets go of James' wrist, but James grins hard enough to light up his whole face.

“Sure thing, Commander, you're in charge.”

Okay, so the kid seems to like being manhandled – Steve can work with that. Steve was _hoping_ for that. And he's not sure about being called Commander by a kid who looks barely old enough to enlist.

“My name is Steve,” he says. 

~

James decides he'll put on a show because he can and because he wants to.

He kicks off the Doc Martens and hooks his thumbs in the unused belt loops on his skinny jeans. He's trying to calculate how to get them off his legs without falling over or bending right down, but there isn't really a way to manage taking them off without doing something.

He lets Rogers look his fill though, and Rogers does – casts an approving eye over James' mouth but his gaze travels down – James shaves his chest (shaves his almost-everything, actually, aside from a carefully sculpted portion of his pubic hair and the trail that leads down to it) and works out, and he can _see_ Rogers look at his chest, look at his stomach, look at his jeans where his cock is growing hard behind them. 

“Like what you see?” he says, and Rogers' gaze flicks back up, heated but mildly irritated.

“I said take off your clothes,” he says. “Anything you don't like?”

James pops the button on his fly, drags the zipper down and shoves his jeans and underwear down in one go. Rogers makes a sound like he's just eaten something particularly delicious and honest to God wets his lips.

“You mean like whips and chains?” James says, waiting for the reaction it usually gets – namely a blush or a stutter.

Rogers doesn't even blink.

“We'll get to that if that's what you want. Right now I mean I plan to get rough with you,” Rogers says. “That gonna be a problem?”

James grins, kicks aside the tangle of his skinny jeans and his underwear.

“I like it rough,” he says, but Rogers stares at him for a second.

“I'm a supsersoldier,” he says. “My rough isn't the same as your rough.”

James walks towards him, stalks towards him really, and presses his palm to the front of Rogers' pants anyhow.

“I can take it,” he says, and Steve reaches out and wraps huge, long, thick fingers around James' cock in retaliation with a suddenness that makes James' knees buckle.

Rogers' other hand is flat against James' chest before he can fall forward, just enough leeway that James slaps his hands against Rogers' unbelievable biceps and he's surprised by the moan he gives when Rogers tugs once, twice, a third time-

“Uhn, I-”

“Bathroom,” Rogers says. “Get cleaned up. You got ten minutes, and then I want you to get on all fours at the end of the bed. I'll deal with everything else.”

Then he lets go of James' cock, gives him another few seconds to remember how his legs work before he takes his hand off James' chest, and walks away.

James watches him go for a few seconds and then turns around and looks down the nearest corridor.

“First on the left, it has an en suite,” Rogers' voice says from wherever he's gone, like a mind-reader and James goes.

~

Steve is not second-guessing this. Not second-guessing any part of this, actually – that's what would annoy him were he not about to get seriously laid. Maybe it will annoy him when he's through getting incredibly laid. Maybe he'll regret this, but probably once the kid is not naked and waiting on the bed so that Steve can get completely and spectacularly-

“Okay, no,” Steve says, actually out loud to himself, with lube and condoms in one hand, and the other hand over his eyes while he breathes.

His dick is hard, his nights are very lonely right now, and he needs to think this through.

Fast though, because there's a naked twenty-one-year-old in his shower right now, about to be on his bed and wow, he looks at the ceiling, wow, the kid is gorgeous and sassy and probably very supple-

Okay, Steve is a forty-one-year-old leader of the most recognizable team in the world, living in the most recognizable building in New York at least some of the time (and is one of the most recognizable people in New York anyway) and while he's out, he's very, very unattached. Which means the press went through wondering who his next date was, on past speculating about colleagues because it's been so long, right the way through to confirmed bachelor. 

James is a twenty-one-year-old tech whiz, probably, with a fixed abode, probably, that's probably in the middle of- Steve knows nothing about the guy besides his name and who his employer is, but the kid is willing, has signed NDAs, is cocky, there shouldn't be a problem with this. 

The kid wants it, Steve wants it, the kid is old enough and sober enough to consent and Steve is way older than that...

What is it that he's missing?

 

Nah, fuck it.

~

When he's finished in the shower, James goes to complete the first of his instructions. 

In his short life, James has been asked to do, and agreed to do, a lot of things. This isn't the first time he's been told to drop trou and assume the position. This is, however, the first time he's done so without something like dinner first, or an afternoon spent getting to know each other. Still, if this is a quickie, he's had a free coffee and a very enjoyable few minutes flirting with the best-looking Avenger so, even if he'll never be able to talk about it, it's still awesome. He's still got that uneasy feeling of half-thinking the world will dissolve around him, of half-thinking he'll wake up at any moment.

He's got butterflies in his stomach, can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

Still, only most of that that feeling is due to being on the bed of one of James' heroes, of one of James' most persistent fantasies, of a man who, up until yesterday, was a headline, a legend and, until maybe fifteen minutes ago, was completely unattainable. Because James is not used to this. Getting to know a person first is usually helpful when it comes to being naked and all fours, because James likes to know in general where he's pointing his softest and/or most vulnerable areas, and specifically to whom he's providing access.

The fact that he knows Rogers is an Avenger – is _The First_ Avenger – does do a little to calm his nerves, as does the memory of being told that he can stop whenever he wants to. But he's still very naked and very exposed and-

 _“Fuck!”_ James yelps, and only narrowly avoids kicking out or catapulting himself off the bed.

“Sorry,” Rogers tells him, smirk on his face, his hand on James' ass. “Ish.”

~

James looks back over his shoulder and Steve smirks in a way he hopes is charming enough to override the pissed-offedness that the kid is, for the look on his face, feeling a lot of right now.

Stealth is one of those things nobody ever expects a guy as big as Steve to have – nice to know he's still got it.

Then again, there's not much else he needs. He doesn't need to be that charming, because he's naked, and James' mouth goes so quickly from a tight, white line to a big black 'o' that Steve almost laughs.

“Holy shit, you're huge,” he says, and James could mean a couple of things by that but Steve chooses the slightly less blue route.

“I work out,” he says. “Hands and knees, say stop if you want to stop.”

“First one's for you, second one's for me,” James answers, and Steve grabs his ankles and pulls him backward over the bedclothes so that James feet are just off the edge.

He's – Steve wants to draw him, and it's a nice feeling as well as being a feeling he hasn't had in a while.

The kid is so- His thighs are so thick and his torso's so lean and his shoulders are so wide, he's got a beautiful ass – round and pale and Steve feels every day as old as he is when he thinks the word 'pert', and the kid's shaved too, the darker, pinker skin of his balls hanging between his legs, cock still hard. Twenty-one always feels so young to Steve, but twenty-one still makes James a man.

Steve runs his palm over James' ass, brings his hand up between James' legs to cup his balls, roll them in his palm, and then he runs his knuckles lightly down between James' cheeks. James shifts his legs outward a little, tilts his hips down to point his ass up a little and, damn, this is exactly what Steve needs.

He's having a hard time believing he's this lucky, but he's damn sure gonna go with it while his luck holds – he picks up the lube with his other hand, flicks the cap, and then holds onto the warm weight of the flesh between James' legs with one hand while he drizzles the lube over James' hole with the other.

He watches the muscles clench under the cool liquid, feels the shift in what he holds in the palm of his hand, and then he clicks the cap back over the lube and drops the bottle to the mattress, sets his free hand palm down against the small of James' back, and starts drawing circles through the lube, over James' hole, with the pad of his thumb.

“ _Oh, g-_ Uhh- straight into it, huh?” James says, and Steve tries not to snort – yes, straight into it, he's been waiting a very long time for something like this.

He just presses lightly, lets the muscle get used to the idea – the kid'll need three or four fingers to take him, and Steve is willing to wait only for as long as that takes.

He presses his thumb inward with each pass, massaging James' balls and his cock lightly with his other hand, and waits for the moment James' body relaxes enough that the digit starts to sink inward. He does it twice, partly to check and partly to watch the soft pucker of stretch as he draws back and yield again when he pushes forward. Once he's sure that there won't be an issue, he withdraws, drags his middle finger through the lube, and then pushes it at a steady pace into James' body.

“Oh,” James says, right hand thumping down on Steve's bedclothes, back bowing slightly, and Steve's whole body responds to the noise he makes and the _heat_ of him inside.

He twists his finger inside of James, lets go with his other hand and grips the base of his cock lightly, breathing out slowly before he pops then an there.

“God, you're so,” he says, and he bites his lower lip as he presses against James from the inside.

James laughs a little, muscles fluttering around Steve's finger.

“So...?” he prompts, and Steve just shakes his head.

“God, I want in you,” he mutters, and James makes another soft noise, clenches down around Steve's one finger like he's getting everything he needs.

Steve withdraws, pushes a second in alongside the first and takes it slower this time, listens to James push his lungful of air out through pursed lips as he tilts his head back, and lets go of his own cock to press his palm against James' ass, spreading his cheeks just a little.

“Tell me,” Steve says, knuckles coming to rest against James' skin, “if you need me to slow down.”

“ 'S good so far,” James answers, his voice rougher now, his breaths faster. “This is good for a minute, I'll get used to you, I'll-”

His breath hitches, and Steve presses with his fingers, massaging as gently and slowly as he can – James is so hot and so tight on the inside, Steve's ready for him now but he's not a sadist. He presses again, and again, turning his fingers so that the muscle gets used to him, and James lifts a hand off the bedclothes and curls it between his legs the way Steve did before, holding heavy flesh to keep it out of the way and to keep a hold of himself.

“Oh,” he sighs, and Steve starts to spread his two fingers.

“Still okay?” he says, and he can hear the strain in his own voice now, feel the urge to take and the urge to move, and he tamps it down, tries to tell himself he's getting what he wants, it won't be long.

“Yeah.” James says, “it's...yeah, it's good, I...” He moans softly, and Steve clenches every muscle in his lower body to try and take the edge off the sting of arousal.

“You want three or four?” he says, once he's unclenched his teeth, spreading his fingers a little more, pushing against the muscle, twisting his wrist.

He has to let go of James' ass to grab at the lube again, popping the cap with one thumb before spreading it liberally, because the third finger will be way too dry otherwise, and he doesn't even care about the mess he's making – he'll be making more of one soon anyway.

“See how I do with three?” James bites out, rocking back a little, and Steve can see his hand between his legs, can see his fingers flex on his cock, against his balls. “I can...I can take three-”

“Not yet,” Steve answers, because he hasn't done this for a while but he's done it enough to know when he'd be pushing it, and James isn't anywhere near loose enough yet.

He waits until he can widen his fingers enough to slip the third in without much difference, waits until there's a big enough gap that James ought to barely notice, but he's not really thinking with his whole brain at this point, so it comes as a bit of a shock when James makes a noise that's sudden, and louder than the murmuring they've been doing so far.

“Uhn, that's...” he says, and he draws a bigger breath before he tries again. “Damn, even your fingers...”

“Sorry,” Steve says, stilling instantly. “You want me to wait?”

James laughs incredulously, and the flutter of muscle around Steve's fingers is maddening.

“Hell no,” he says, “God just...that's good, it's good,” and he drops his head down, lets it hang and groans softly, circling his hips just a little.

Steve keeps going, free hand on James' ass again, turning his wrist and doing his utmost to spread as much lube as possible, to make this as easy as he can for James. He's got no intention of going slow once they get started – not as long as it's all right by James – and he's fast running out of patience.

“How you-” Steve says, and has to swallow hard and wet his lips and shut his eyes for a second. “How you doing, you need more?”

He hears James wet his own lips, watches him flex his spine, and sinks his teeth into his lower lip when James nods.

“Almost, just,” he says, “spread 'em a little more, I won't need another, God, St-Steve,” and it makes Steve look at the back of his head – plenty of people have stumbled over Steve's name the first time they've said it, but those people are usually shaking his hand in front of press, not naked and on all-fours on his bed.

But he does as he asked, watches soft, pink muscle turn pliable and draw his fingers in, pulls them back and spreads them apart to turn them and watch James' body open up for him.

“You sure?” he says, and James nods quickly, for too long.

“I'm done, that's it, I'm done, you- you can, come on-”

Steve doesn't need to be told twice – barely needs to be told at all, and he grabs a condom and fumbles with it, fingers slick from the lube. He wipes his hands on his thighs first and the bedclothes second, and then bites his lip, pinches the tip of the condom, and rolls it down the length of his cock.

He's not going to last any reasonable length of time so thank God for the serum or they'd be done within about two minutes, and then he cants his hips forward and presses the tip of his cock to James' hole – even that's hot, soft, and James relaxes and clenches just so Steve can feel it against the head of his cock.

“Ready?” Steve says, and James nods.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “you can...Yeah, come on...”

Steve holds the base of his cock with one hand, the other on the small of James' back, and then he starts to ease forward, slowly at first, steady pressure rolling over the head of his cock. They both groan when the head of it pops through the ring of muscle, and then Steve's seeing stars on the edge of his vision, taking a huge lungful of air to stave off the potentially embarrassing rush of pleasure, grabbing at James' hips to steady himself. 

“Oh my _God,_ ” James murmurs, and Steve keeps pressing forward, mouth hanging open.

He can barely keep his eyes open it's so good, certainly can't form words. He knew, of course he knew, what this feels like, but his body had forgotten just how hot and how pressured and how tight it is like this, just how good it feels to have somebody else's body draw you in even as you push.

“I'm gonna,” Steve pants, “need you to...oh, to tell me when...”

James does the fast-nodding thing again, fingers clenching tight in the bedclothes.

“In a second,” he says, “fuck, you're big,” and Steve can feel James' fighting his body's response to the intrusion, purposefully relaxing when his muscles clench down, breathing as evenly as he can, but Steve would be able to hear the breaths tremble even if he couldn't feel James shaking.

“You okay?” Steve says, half like a plea, and James tilts his head right back.

“Go slow,” he says, “just...slow to start, let me- _Ohh_...”

James' muscles are still fluttering, his body is still trembling, and he drops onto his elbows a moment later.

The effect of the change in angle is immediate, and Steve gasps, fingers suddenly tight in the slight amount of flesh at James' hips, stock still because he'll lose it right now if he doesn't stop, and he tilts his head back, squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yeah,” James says, “yeah, you can, pull back, you can move,” and no, no Steve really can't.

He won't even come with his dick in James' body if he does.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, holds on with every ounce of resolve he possesses – he will not, no matter how little the kid is expecting or how long it's been, come just from being inside of James.

He is forty-one years old with an incredibly attractive bed-partner, not sixteen and alone aside from--

That does it, actually. Remembering. 

It doesn't take much time until he can breathe properly, until he's not on the singing razor-edge of his own pleasure, and until he can actually think about getting something out of this other than an orgasm in a slightly hotter and tighter place than his own fist.

He wants this so badly, his body wants this so badly – it was one of the universe's jokes with him once he got with the serum, and after being so incredibly lonely for so long. A libido that took forever to satisfy, alongside a body that took no time at all. It took him _months_ to figure out how to get what he needed the first time, and he hadn't done it alone then, either, but he learned. Hands and mouths could go a long way, and there were other things he could use when they didn't go far enough, but nothing beats the hot, tight drag of another human being, and the sounds they make in response.

Steve draws back as slowly as he can make his body do it, almost the whole way, before he's pushing forward again. He clenches his jaw, draws back again and pushes forward faster this time, faster the time after that. 

He does it three more times, a little faster each time, and then he stops, leaning over James, body curled over James' long, pale spine. 

“Put your hands on the bed,” he says, breathless already, now that he knows James was serious about being ready, and James does, without question, immediately. “Yell stop if you need me to stop.”

“Please,” James answers, “oh my God, I will, but can you please just _give it to me_ already?”

Steve plants his feet and stands up straight and holds onto James' hips, and then he snaps his own hips forward once, twice, again, and faster, and keeps going, and this is going to take him all of two minutes if he's lucky. It feels so good, James feels so good, and he bites his lower lip and gives it all he dares, jackrabbiting his hips and jarring James' body with every thrust, tags jumping against his chest. 

James makes a little punched-out noise every third or fourth thrust – it's all he can manage to get the air for – but he isn't complaining. If anything, he sounds encouraging, and it's when he starts to clench down on Steve's cock that Steve can't keep the noise back, groaning.

“Ye-ah,” James says, words broken by the force of it, “co-me o-n,” and Steve does, can't not. 

He can feel orgasm curling up inside of him, behind his cock and deep in his belly, and he stops for half a second to get one foot up on the edge of the mattress before he sets off again. He can't give it everything – he'd shatter James' hips – but he gives it what he can, keeps his body up and his hands tight and thrusts and thrusts and-

“Oh,” he says, “oh, _oh,_ ” and it is fast, it was always going to be fast, “oh-h,” he squeezes his eyes shut, lets his mouth fall open, and it hits him like a damned freight train, hard and blinding.

His rhythm falters, he's sure, but he keeps going as well as he can, pleasure snapping up his spine as he spills into the condom, in and in and in and he could do this forever, he's certain – James is so tight and so hot and so _good_.

“Oh,” he says again, “oh, _God_ , that's...”

His lungs don't let him breathe for a moment, and then they take in a huge breath all at once, and he shudders, his spine does something Steve doesn't control, and he's still going, his body's still only just over the peak, only just coming back down the other side. 

It makes his fingers spasm and his hips jerk forward and he realizes then that he'll need to be careful or he could still do James damage if he doesn't watch his strength.

“Oh,” he says again – all he's said for a while – and it bends him double at the waist as he starts to slow down, lets his foot slip off the edge and curls over James' body again, still inside of him, still thrusting shallowly every now and again. “Damn, sorry,” he says, but he's not really. 

He gets the feeling James could tell just how long it's been, and Steve wishes with hindsight that he could have lasted longer – maybe that they'd spent more time kissing or something. He's been waiting for this, and now it's over.

All that build-up for not very much pay-off. Steve's hardly satisfied.

“Alright?” he finds the breath to ask, aftershocks still tensing the backs of his thighs and the muscles in his abdomen.

“Holy fuck” James laughs, and the fluttering muscle makes Steve's hips jerk forward this time. “I, like...thought you were gonna knock my eyeballs out.”

Steve's body takes less time to wind down than other peoples', but his chest is still heaving, and his palms are slick with sweat against James' skin. Even still, he can almost feel the rush of endorphins the first orgasm's brought with it, can almost feel the tension in his own limbs easing.

God, he needed this.

“You okay?” he says, and James nods slowly, stretches all catlike and pushes back against him.

“Yeah,” he says. “How about you?”

Steve pulls out and strips off the condom, ties a knot in it and tosses it aside before he gets another. James is watching him over his shoulder but Steve just gets a new condom on and slicks it up, able to think past get-in-there-and-go-to-town now that he's actually come once.

“Perfect,” he says, pushing against James' side to get him to turn onto his back. “Your turn.”

James, and Steve really should have considered this, is a little disoriented, but it only occurs to Steve once he's grabbed James' thighs and turned him the rest of the way, and then grabbed his torso to lift him further up the bed.

“Fuck-” James slurs, lifting his upper body off the mattress as he bounces, laughing a moment later. Steve is midway to getting onto the bed himself between James' legs when James' flailing hands grab his forearms – having the world spin around you like that is always a bit of a surprise. “Ha, sorry.”

“My fault,” Steve says, but he's got a goal in mind now and, as is often the trouble, the first orgasm has really only reminded his body what he wants.

“Shit, are you still...” James says, and Steve glances down at his cock, which is still hard because of course it is.

“Yeah,” he says. “That happens. You need a minute?”

James shakes his head, tightens his fingers on Steve's forearms and pulls, so Steve goes where he's asked.

He leans down, hands either side of James' torso, and kisses him, wet and messy, because he can and because he wants to. James is sweating, Steve can see it on him, can _smell_ it on him, and he settles his hips and his still-hard cock against James', supports himself on his forearms and mouths at James' neck, finds his hammering pulse.

James moans softly, tilting his head back as he lifts his hands to Steve's neck, to the back of Steve's head, and sinks his fingers into Steve's hair. It sends a shiver down Steve's spine, relieves a little more of the tension across his shoulders all by itself, and he kisses at James' skin, follows the artery and scrapes his teeth over James' earlobe, moves back to kiss at the soft patch of skin just behind James' ear.

James might have said he doesn't need a minute, but it's always better to be safe than sorry, James really seems to be enjoying this, and Steve craves physical comfort just as much as he craves sex. He might think back on this later and figure this is what drives him to write what he writes later, but right now he's only aware of the warm, lithe young man beneath him and the steadily moving ten points of pressure against his head and neck.

He hasn't had a hug or an arm slung around his waist or a hand in his back pocket or fingers in his hair for a very long time, hasn't had anyone come over to him and press their lips to his skull from behind the couch, hasn't had anyone share a cup of coffee with him, hasn't had anyone squidge up with him in an armchair he can barely fit into himself. One of James' hands drops away, comes back under Steve's arm, flat against his back.

Ah, horizontality; the great leveller. 

Once James realizes he can reach any part of Steve with a great deal more ease, he does just that, one hand in Steve's hair and one hand in the dip at the small of Steve's back, while Steve covers James' throat with wet kisses and gentle teeth.

James' thighs hug his thighs, James' hips lift slowly and languidly to press against his own, and Steve pushes himself up and sits back on his haunches before he gets too distracted by making out, James' legs spread around him, and just takes a minute or two to look down at James where he's laid out on Steve's bedclothes.

James' eyes open slowly, glassy and dark. His lips are red where his mouth hangs open, and Steve can see the beginning of a rosiness on James' throat where Steve's five o'clock shadow (it might only be lunchtime but Steve's body is always way ahead of him) has started to burn. There's a thin sheen of sweat on him, some of his dark hair spills over the sheets and his shoulders and some sticks to his skin, and he already looks like someone has picked him up and shaken him. But he's smiling, and Steve's dick is very interested in the pretty picture he makes.

He's got fairly broad shoulders, and not a small amount of muscle, and Steve follows the lines with his hands, brushing James' hair away from his skin at his shoulders. Then he drags his palms over small, pink nipples and over a chest and his belly that's softer than Steve's but still worked on, slimmer in a younger way, and trails his fingers over the thin line of dark hair that leads down from his navel to the small vee of curls around his cock. The rest of him is shaved – pink hardness flushed and glistening and waiting above soft, vulnerable skin that Steve cradles in one palm, rolling the flesh in his hand, stroking with his thumb and dipping fingertips behind.

James' breath hitches but he keeps his eyes on Steve, watching him while he indulges. The kid's thighs are creamy pale and Steve runs his hands over those, too, figuring you can't really get this pale unless you don't go out in the sun, making a mental note to taste him all over at some point before they're done, not that Steve thinks there'll be much chance of his forgetting.

“Okay?” he says, still gasping slightly.

“Ah-huh,” James says easily, lazily, and Steve shakes his head as he smiles.

He fishes around for the lube again and coats the fingers of his right hand when he finds it. James watches him without saying anything, wetting his lower lip with his tongue. Steve is going to take this a little slower, if only because he plans to make sure James needs the time to get used to everything.

He shuffles his knees forward so that his kneecaps are pressed against James' thighs, and then he pushes James' leg outward with his dry hand. James moves his other leg of his own accord, outward just enough that he exposes himself in a way that's thoroughly enticing.

When Steve slips two wet fingers inside him and twists them, presses upward where he knows the pressure will be wanted, James moans softly, his mouth wide and his eyes rolling back as his shoulders lift. He smiles a moment later, laughs softly and spreads his legs a little more.

“Yeah,” he says, his hand dropping down to tug lightly at his half-hard cock, to stroke his balls, while the other curls in the bedsheets up by his head.

James is like a porn movie brought to life, and Steve enjoys watching him very much. He's going to enjoy making him writhe, too, but they're going to take their time getting there. 

~

James fights every instinct to make noise and move around – Rogers has put him here because this is where Rogers wants him. The fingers inside him are slick and huge, and Rogers is a towering giant of of a man whose shoulders are wide and whose chest is broad and-

“You look like a wet dream,” James slurs, just as those huge fingers push up against him from the inside, stealing his breath.

Rogers' expression is dark and hungry but a smile twists the edge of his gorgeous mouth and James looks him up and down – the sweat-slicked hair and those huge muscles, the tags stuck to his skin up by his collarbone with moisture, chain slack.

“Oh, I'll be better than that,” Rogers says, and even after a thirty-second fuck, James still believes him.

Rogers eases himself forward so that James had to spread his legs even wider, and there's something sexy about this, something dirty about it. James isn't above showing himself off to get a reaction, but he'd never have thought of something like this from America's Sweetheart. This is a guy who's as clean-cut as his hairstyle, as pure as the driven snow. But here is James' hero, two fingers in James' ass, and a look that says James will be lucky to be walking tomorrow.

James tries to raise an eyebrow, but he knows what he looks like. He's loose-limbed and spread-eagled, and he's absolutely naked, just like Rogers, but it's Rogers' eyes, dark and heavy-lidded and sparkling, that James can't tear his gaze from.

Rogers gives him a third finger in alongside the other two, shifts his free hand to hook gentle fingers in some of James' bracelets, lifting his hand away from his cock.

“I'll see to that when it comes to it,” he says, and James bites his lip, grabs hold of the bedclothes and thinks incredulously about the fact that, less than fifteen minutes ago, he was drinking alone in his favourite coffee shop. 

“Soon, right?” he breathes.

He thinks, for a split second, that Rogers might take that the wrong way, that he might be insulted or something, but then he's showing white teeth and crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and James feels warm all the way from the crown of his skull to the ends of his toes.

“Sure,” Rogers says, and James can't tell if that's sarcasm, can't tell if that's a yes or a when-I-deem-necessary.

Steve spreads his fingers inside of James, thumb rubbing softly on the outside, and James closes his eyes and tilts his head back and lets the pleasure wash over him. It's easy for now, a low thrum that's warm and deep, and Rogers evidently knows what he's doing, knows how to please without pushing, how to keep James going without working him up. 

James gets the feeling he could do this for hours, and he bites his lip and opens his mouth and moans softly, smiles, arches his back.

“Let me know when you're good to go,” Rogers says, his voice a low rumble, and James isn't sure he wants anything to change.

“I'm good right here,” he says, and Rogers chuckles – the sound skitters over James' nerves, raises goosebumps on his skin, and he opens his eyes to get another look at the way Rogers stares at him.

Even watching his eyes, James can see the muscles flexing in Rogers' arm in time with the tongues of pleasure curling up his spine like flames. He's going to combust, he's sure, pleasure's going to eat him up like embers until all that's left is ash.

He stretches, pulling some of the laziness out of his limbs, waking his body up a little, and then he scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, “whatever you're gonna do, I want it now.”

~

Steve doesn't make him ask twice, withdrawing his fingers to line himself up.

James is splayed out beneath him, arms out, legs akimbo, skin flushed in places with his cock hard between them, wet at the tip.

Steve pushes forward carefully but without stopping, and James' jaw drops, his eyes roll, and then he laughs a moment later.

“Uhhn, yeah,” he chuckles, and Steve huffs a laugh before he grasps for James' shins and hauls James' legs close so he can tuck them up either side of his torso.

“How many times can you come in a row?” Steve says, shuffling himself a little so he can get a better angle, and James half kind of laughs, eyebrows drawing together.

“What?” he says, breathless.

“I said how many times,” Steve answers, leaning down over him, “can you come in a row?”

James bites his lip, flexes his hips up.

“I don't know?” he says. “I mean, I stop after two, had three once but that was-”

“Ever needed a safeword?” Steve says, and James moans at him, reaches for his cock and Steve bats his hand away. “What'd I say?”

“I use,” James says, “it used to be Eggs Benedi-”

Steve snorts a laugh, then stumbles over it and laughs properly, and then says, 

“Right, got it.”

James stares up at him with an interesting expression on his face, but it seems more amused than irritated.

“I hate Eggs Benedict,” he clarifies, and Steve nods.

“Sure,” he says. “Ready?”

James runs his tongue over his teeth and smiles broadly, and Steve crunches his entire body forward and kisses him because he has one hell of a gorgeous smile.

“Yeah,” he says when Steve pulls away, so Steve holds onto James legs and _moves._.

He's done taking it slow, done being careful – James will stop him if he needs to but he's damned sure gonna finish what he started and his body's through waiting. He goes hard and fast, angles his hips _just so_ and James' smug, seductive expression drops away immediately, mouth falling open on a moan that takes a good five seconds to leave his lips.

He moans some form of _oh my God_ , and then his hands slap down against Steve's biceps, then his head, then his torso, his hips, and then James is hanging on for dear life, his head back, his eyes closed. 

James can barely breathe, and hearing him try is a reward all its own – Steve barely has to hold James' legs up any more he's wound up so tight so quickly.

“Oh God, oh God, _oh_ -” and this, this is easy, this is cake, this is the simplest thing he's ever done because all he has to do for this is be consistent and let his stamina do the work.

And Steve could go for hours under the right circumstances.

James manages to flail a little more, hooks his hands under Steve's underarms, fingers clawing at the back of his shoulder, and then he's makes a series of noises as though Steve's put his whole weight on the him and convulses into his first orgasm. 

Steve keeps going for long enough that James' eyes go wide, that he digs his nails right in and says, _oh oh_ in a way that suggests he's still surprised even though he's halfway through coming, and Steve only lets up a little once James slaps at his shoulder and laughs even as he squirms. After that, Steve withdraws and sits back on his haunches on the bed, swiping a hand over his face to wipe away the first prickle of sweat there.

James' chest his heaving, and Steve enjoys the awed expression on his face.

“What happened,” James says, and Steve laughs, stroking his hands down the underside of James' legs as James extends them either side of Steve's body.

It's a rest, a stretch to ease the muscle tension – Steve'll let him do it for now because he'll need the strength later.

Steve takes a few moments, lets James get his breathing under control and then leans over him to kiss him, hands planted either side of his head.

“Fuck,” James mutters, and lifts his head to look down his body when Steve sits back again to get more lube and a third condom. “Huh.”

Steve knows what he's seeing – kid as young as James can have a few orgasms dry and maybe one or two wet before he's done.

“That's why you don't touch your dick until I say so,” Steve says, unwrapping his condom and rolling it on. “You'll stay hard until you make a mess, and you know what that means.”

James groans softly, reaches out with one hand and his bracelets slide along smooth skin. Steve goes, leans down and meets him because kissing's easy and he hasn't had anyone around to kiss for a while. He pushes back into James' tight heat while they're still kissing, and James breathes in a huge breath through his nose, moans into Steve's mouth a moment later.

“Ready for round three?” Steve says, and James bites his lip, nods quickly.

“Yeah,” he whines. “ _Yeah!_ ”

And Steve smiles.

“All right,” he says. “Hold onto me.”

*

James is a wreck. By the time he his second orgasm hits, his neck is starting to ache, and Steve barely stops before he's pushing James towards his third. James can't catch his breath, is whimpering in ways he didn't even know his voice was capable of, and hears in his own ears the shudder as he moans – Steve's aim is incredible.

 _Of course it is,_ his brain supplies, _his primary weapon relies on advanced geometry._

His legs are up on Steve's shoulders, feet shaking like his ankles are on threads because he can't make his body obey his commands, and he's given up on coherent encouragement, hands flailing with the need to anchor himself, the need to push himself away from the onslaught of pleasure and claw himself closer simultaneously. He can't get a good enough hold on Steve's shoulders, torso, ass, can't get a grip that satisfies the desperate urge to ground himself somehow, and eventually he digs his fingernails into Steve's ass and keens.

All he can manage is garbled words and half-swallowed sounds, and he manages to look up, look at Steve-

Steve is beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, a towering pillar of naked skin and muscle and James can barely hold it together, can barely believe where he is. Steve just kneels where he is, James' thighs against his chest, James' feet past his ears and smiles, unhurried, unflustered, unconcerned and sexy in a way James has never really imagined he could be. Steve's twice his age, so much more experienced, absolutely confident in himself, and James can't get over how exactly like every fantasy he's ever had this whole surreal situation is – except for the fact that it's about ten times more intense.

“Steve,” James says, feels the split-second's worth of absolute calm before the storm that's been brewing in his body and the taste of _Steve Rogers'_ name in _his_ mouth, “ _Steve_ -”

And it becomes a cry he can't stop, a pleasure so intense it's almost a burn, Steve's thick, hot fingers closing around his cock and Steve is speaking, soft, slow words in a voice like melted chocolate that James doesn't register until his pulse isn't pounding in his ears.

“There you go,” he's saying, “that's it, God, look at you-”

He's not sure he's ever come so hard in his life – orgasm usually has his cock drooling over his stomach, once or twice he's had droplets elsewhere but this goes _everywhere_ , it's all over his thighs and his chest and stomach as Steve jerks him off, he's halfway to mortified that it's not just on him.

“Oh my God, I got it on you,” he says, but Steve doesn't look concerned in the slightest.

He says something about if it's not all over, he's not doing it right, but he's doing it right so James isn't really sure what he means at this point. Steve pulls out a moment later and James thinks about pulling him back.

One things James is sure of is that he can feel himself running out of fuel. He's reaching a point where there are a couple of muscles that might cramp fairly soon, his abs tight and tired, his shoulders and his hips are stiff. There's a muscle in the back of his shoulder that he thinks he might have pulled, one of his toes doesn't quite feel right.

And his _face_ \- he didn't even know his face could do the things it's been doing. His eyebrows seem to be twitching all by themselves, and Steve, Steve Rogers, _Captain America_ is just looking at him like he's the greatest thing since sliced bread.

At least, James thinks he is. Maybe it's the afterglow – he really hopes he's not imagining the look Commander Rogers is giving him.

“You doin' okay still?” 

James feels his face stretch as he grins, feels as though he's swimming through molasses.

“Yessir,” he slurs, chuckles at his own joke, and Rogers, Steve, just raises an eyebrow.

“Keep callin' me that and I'm gon' assume you like it.”

James laughs, stretches, spreads his limbs and basks for a moment or three.

“Hmm,” he says, running his hands down his chest, his stomach. 

His cock is lying, still swollen but softening, against his lower stomach, and James is pretty sure nothing he'll ever experience will top this, but he's okay with that for now, okay too with the way Steve's eyes follow the movement of his hands.

Steve is staring at him, barely moving actually, and James cocks his head on the mattress, regards him.

“What?” he laughs after a couple of seconds, his voice thin and breathy.

“One more,” Steve says, and it takes James a second or two to understand what he means.

“What?” he says once he gets it. “No, no, I can't-”

“You can,” Steve tells him. “I know you can, if you want to.”

~

James' beautiful, sated expression turns anxious, unsure, and Steve wants to look at him this way forever, his skin flushed and sweaty, his eyes dark, his lips bitten red, 

He's so young, so uncertain, and Steve wants nothing more than to show him what he's capable of, to prove to James that James can do it. 

“Need out?” Steve says, and James stares at him, looking every day as young as he is, his narrow chest rising and falling, his hands weakly grasping at Steve's sheets and it's the middle of the day, they're stone-cold sober, how the hell is this happening.

“I just...I don't think I can,” James says, and Steve shakes his head, strokes his hand up James' torso. 

Even now, James pushes his body into the touch.

“Do you need out?” Steve says.

James scrapes his teeth over his lower lip, looks Steve up and down and groans as he turns his head away, wincing.

“I...” he says. “I don't _want_ out.”

Steve feels the corner of his mouth twitch up, and smooths his palms down James' stomach, either side of his cock and along the insides of his thighs.

“Mmm, not the question I asked,” he says, and he bends to press his mouth to press his lips to James' stomach in places that are still clean. 

“Mmph,” James answers, squirms a little more. “I-I don't... _think_ so but I...”

Steve waits, lets him speak,. He asked a question and he want an answer, and leading James into a question in a situation like this is not something Steve's willing to do.

“I don't know,” James says, staring at him. 

Actually, it looks like he's gauging Steve's reaction.

“Don't try and figure out what I want – I want what you want, so what'll it be?”

“Can I still...” James says, “if I say...”

“You give me the word and I'll stop,” Steve murmurs, looking up through his eyelashes along the length of James' body. “No matter what, no matter when.”

James looks down at him, chin to his chest to see, and then he flings his head back with a whump into the bedclothes.

“Oh my God,” he chuckles. 

Steve sits back up again, looking down at him, and James catches his gaze, seems to think about it for a long few moments.

“Okay,” he says. 

Steve moves immediately – he's grabbing this chance with both hands.

“I'm not stopping unless you say it,” he says, and James gets one hand in Steve's hair.

“If I die, ask Mr Stark to notify my next of kin,” he says, and Steve tries not to think about how James' parents are probably closer to his own age than to James'. 

Instead, he grasps hold of James' cock and starts to stroke him – it's isn't a kind thing, it's not gentle, he strokes fast, his fingers tight, and James' convulses in a way that's more like his body seems to be trying to separate itself into difference pieces.

“Oh _ohn,_ fuck,” he gasps, and it's not really something men were built to do, not something most men have the patience or the stamina or the willpower to push themselves into as far as Steve's found.

It's been a long time since anyone was willing to let him show them how.

He likes this, likes how trusting James is, likes the flush and sweat on his skin, likes that it doesn't take long, and James looks like he's in pain, slaps at Steve's shoulders, grabs at the sheets, at Steve's wrist without even meaning to, but Steve only needs one hand free.

So, with the other, he grabs James' wandering hand, catches James' other hand on the way, and shoves both into the bed over James' head.

James' body twists underneath him, and Steve pulls himself up, plants his knees over James' thighs to pin them and leans as close as he needs to to stay upright because James, despite his youth, is strong. Steve's face is inches from James', close enough to see the sweat beading on his brow, far enough that James isn't going to break Steve's nose with his skull the next time he writhes.

“No,” James says, “oh, _oh_ , God, I can't,” and it gives part of Steve pause but the rational part knows, knows for a fact, that this kid knows safewords well enough to have one of his own, that the kid knows how to use them and would if he needed to, so he doesn't stop.

James gives him a noise like a sob, another that's higher than a whine, and then he tenses up and his head falls back, and he draws a huge lungful of air, says,

“ _No_ -” hard enough that the word splits halfway through and changes into “-ohh, _God_!”

James doesn't come much and it doesn't go far – barely gets Steve's fingers sticky – but it sounds like this is the worst torture James has ever endured, and he fights hard to get his hands down, harder to get his legs up.

Steve doesn't stop, doesn't even slow down and James' mouth opens, his head comes forward, he throws it back and his shoulders lift. Steve can hear how irregularly he's breathing, and all he can think of is how good James looks like this, how nice it is to have a lithe young man writhing around on his bedsheets.

“I can't,” James groans through his teeth, “I can't take any more, I can't,” he says, and then he opens his eyes and looks up at Steve through wet lashes – sweat or tears, Steve neither knows nor cares at this point – and says, “please?” 

Steve is absolutely going to hell.

He stops immediately, attempts to counter the disorientation of sixty to nought in zero seconds by keeping his fingers wrapped loosely around James' cock.

James stares up at him, his hard, rapid breaths the only sound in the room, his eyes half closed and his mouth open, lips bitten red. Steve squeezes once, to watch James wince, but he smiles as soon as Steve lets go, stretches as much as he can with his legs and arms pinned down, and runs his tongue over his teeth.

Steve doesn't doubt that he knows exactly what he's doing, so he kisses James for his trouble, for the effort, and then what they're doing is kissing, easy and hot and wet with James' breaths hard across his cheek, and he strokes his palm down James' forearm when he lets go of James' wrists, gets his knees off James' legs and settles between them instead.

They are an absolute mess, the both of them, and quite clearly neither of them care.

“That was,” James says, first into Steve's mouth and then into the humid air as Steve kisses his throat instead. “I mean...”

Steve doesn't say anything because he doesn't need to. He rumbles a smooth “mmm” in agreement but that's all it requires really.

He feels James move though.

“Oh wow, it's like...I mean, it's five already,” James says, “I should be, uh. Y'know.”

Steve lifts his head in time to see James glance at the door, and frowns.

“What?” he says. “Are you kidding, I just ran you around four damn times, at least take a nap 'less you wanna fall asleep on the subway?”

“Oh, thank God,” James says, sort of melting into the bedclothes, and Steve snorts at him.

Steve's still hard – of course he is – but he's satisfied, and that's what matters. 

He gets up off James with another couple of kisses, and goes to grab a warm washcloth, discarding his condom in the nearest waste paper basket.

By the time he comes back, James is already asleep, and he doesn't wake when Steve cleans him up or covers him with a spare blanket.

*

When James wakes, it's to the smell of expensive cologne and air freshener, fresh sheets and well-maintained air-con, and it takes him a moment or six to remember where he is and why.

He sits up when he remembers, looks around him for his clothes and then remembers that they're in the other room. He can't hear any movement from outside the bedroom but the clock on the nightstand says it's getting on for eight.

“Shit,” he mutters, and he fumbles his way out of _Captain America's_ bed.

He goes to the door, still hears nothing, and crosses the room to the en-suite instead, closing the door as quietly as possible before he hops into the shower. If Rogers let him sleep in his bed, surely a shower won't be overstepping the mark.

He scrubs quickly, with the only bottle of showergel in the stall, and uses it on his hair too, checking to make sure he hasn't missed anywhere. He remembers there being a lot more mess, but it was two and a half hours ago and, in his defense, he was kind of distracted.

When he's done, he goes to the bathroom, dries off, and walks back out into the bedroom cautiously, and it takes him a minute to realize that the lights in here have switches. That must be a thing Rogers has, because everywhere else in the tower's automated. You walk in and the lights come on, unless it's residential. If it's residential, you walk in and then say “lights,” and the lights come on.

Once he's figured this out, though, he manages to find the switch for the bedroom light, and finds that his clothes have been folded neatly on a chair by the door. So...okay, so at least he doesn't have to wander around Captain America's living space butt naked.

He dresses quickly.

~

Steve's reading a book with his tablet when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He's not startled – he heard James moving around a little before, thought maybe he'd settle down again – and he turns to look at James.

“Hi,” he says, smiling.

“Hey,” James says, and he's nervous. 

Steve can hear it in that one word, and he doesn't like it. What happened to the confident kid from the coffee place? Steve frowns.

“You okay?” he says.

James backs up, heads for the door.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sorry I slept so long.”

Steve puts his tablet down and stands up.

“That's okay,” he says. “I made a fresh pot of coffee given that you didn't finish yours. Then I can take you home if you want.”

“Uh,” James says, but in for a penny, right?

And if he's mildly disappointed to be going home, that's just his inner teenager.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.

Steve smiles.

*

Everything seems to have happened so quickly since this afternoon, since James fell asleep on Cap's bed.

It isn't until he's handing Steve the spare helmet back, outside his apartment, that he realizes how cold he is, or how much he wishes he could go back and relive the afternoon. Once is enough, James tells himself, as he waves while Steve takes off again. Once is fine, he's had his fantasy, now he can get on with his life, he thinks as he climbs the stairs. He slept with the First Avenger, for God's sake, he thinks as he toes off his shoes and starts to remove his jacket, what more could he want?

He puts his hand in his pocket to get out his phone, and finds a small, white card tucked into the casing.

 _'Call me,'_ it says, handwritten, above a telephone number.

James feels his face split into a grin as he drops onto the couch.

“How about that?” he mutters, and gets out his phone to save the number.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Spoiler alert:** If you'd like to know the dates in this series, here's [a link to a timeline](https://66.media.tumblr.com/aac4be76b217f7b6ea54592e0a76d168/tumblr_inline_pg5mcewTA21rckout_500.png) of the first ten parts, with a short summary of each part. **Spoilers for parts 1-10, though.**


End file.
